Friendship Under Pressure
by GothicCheshire
Summary: When one is trapped in one place, a persons mind begins to wander, considering and thinking over things that happened in a new light, this includes the First Officer. And when you're McCoy, these thoughts are never welcome.


_Well, here we go people, my take on a cliché that has plagued the Star Trek story for ages. Couple things: Rating is due to lots of blood and 'violence', but it is also due to what I like to call 'accidental molestation of the First Officer'. Enjoy._  
...

McCoy woke up in blackness, mind fuzzy and almost unable to cognate. But he was aware of the fact that he wasn't alone. He could hear the breathing of two other people; one breathing pattern was strong. The other was strange, shallow, the sound close to his ear, and his medical instincts were screaming. He was also aware that there was a rather heavy weight on top of him and an even heavier weight on top of that. He couldn't move his arms, he couldn't move his legs, and he could barely move his head.

He couldn't help the one who was breathing like that even if he wanted to.

As he thought about it, realizing who the two people were that were next to him, the more he wanted to help that one. "Jim? Jim? Dammit Jim, answer me, or wake up, don't just lay there. Come on…" McCoy growled, voice dry and choking on the dust that clogged the air. He figured they were lucky that they hadn't suffocated yet. But, as he thought about it, there was a stirring in the air, which meant that there was a flow of air somewhere. 'Bout the only good news he'd had all day.

There was a muffled moan off to his right, and he turned his head in that direction quickly, knocking his head against the stone floor and hissing through his teeth at the pain. "Bones? What's...what's goin' on? What happened?" Slurred speech, fuzzy memory, McCoy's mind was cataloging symptoms, even though he couldn't do anything.

How he hated being powerless.

"Where are we…Where's Spock?"

"Judging by where his breathing is next to my damn ear, I think he's across your legs."

"…Is that what that warm, yet extremely heavy thing is?"

"Yep."

"Damn…"

"Do you remember what happened, Jim?"

"Why, you can't?"

"I remember just fine, I'm just tryin' to make sure you can."

Kirk sighed, leaning back slightly, eyes staring futilely into the blackness. "Well, I remember Spock leading us here due to finding some sort of anomaly. Actually, he was leading me here, you sort of tagged along. Anyway, there was this rumbling, Spock launched himself at us, and next thing I know I'm opening my eyes in darkness and can't breathe without inhaling a mouthful of dust," he interrupted his monologue to cough harshly, "to the sound of you shouting at me."

"Good, you do remember, at least there's no short term memory loss…"

"That would suck."

"More than you know."

"How's Spock?"

"Aside from being unconscious and the usual stick up his ass? He's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"No, and unfortunately I can't be sure because I can't move. Dammit, Jim, why the hell did he have to go and do that? He could have just backed up! He didn't have to try and get us out of the way, I mean…how the hell did he know that there was somethin' that was gonna stop the damn roof from fallin' on us completely? In fact…it wasn't logical at all, if he had backed up he would have been fine, he might have even been spared being trapped under here. Now the _Enterprise_ is missing its three senior most officers. Am I the only one who fails to see the logic of that decision?"

"Nope, I don't see the logic in it either."

"Well, at least we're in agreement." He grumbled to himself, all the while an ear was carefully attuned to any changes in the Vulcan's breathing. McCoy attempted to squirm out of his pinned position, trying to find a way to free his hands, try and find a way to see if he could figure out what else was wrong with the hobgoblin, aside from the obvious fact that he was completely out cold.

He was unable to move, arms pinned to his sides by the top half of the Vulcan, and legs pinned in place by rocks that had been _extremely_ close to crushing them. Finally he gave up, panting slightly.

"Can't move, Bones?"

"No, I can't move! Brilliant observation, I'm glad to see that your skills in stating the obvious are still intact."

"Thank you, I do try."

"Jim, can you move at all?"

"Yep. Well, I think, one of my arms is in a better position to be able to worm its way free."

"I need you to do that for me. I need you to check his heart rate. It's in his right side, so if you pull your right arm free you can probably find it. It's near his ribs, alright?"

"Okay, I'll see if I can get to it…" Jim began the difficult task of worming his arm out from under Spock. Finally, after plenty of heavy wiggling and difficulty, he managed to pop his elbow out. This, unfortunately, left his hand in a rather…awkward position. "HOLY SHIT!" He shouted out, jerking his hand out hurriedly, his elbow making painful contact with the rock to the side of him.

"What? _What_?"

"I JUST MOLESTED MY FIRST OFFICER!"

"NO! I take it back, I don't want to know! _Don't tell me_!"

"IT'S NOT LIKE I WANTED TO! IT JUST…HAPPENED! I SWEAR, I DIDN'T MEAN TO MOLEST HIM!"

"Dammit, Jim, shut up! I don't wanna hear!"

"But…I suppose it was accidental, right? I mean, it's not like I figured 'Gee, Spock's completely unconscious and unaware, I'm gonna molest him now'. I mean…what's a little accidental molestation among friends, right? Wait…McCoy; WE'RE NOT EVEN FRIENDS YET! SPOCK IS GONNA KILL ME!"

"Oh, SHUT UP! The guy's completely out cold, and by default completely unaware. So, basically, unless you were to tell him, I don't think you have a problem. I mean, I don't know about you, but I don't exactly see myself goin' up to him and sayin', 'Hey, you remember that cave-in? Well, you see Jim over there, he took the time to molest you when you were unconscious. Don't worry though, he's not interested in that alien cock of yours, it was a complete accident, I just figured I'd let you know,'" McCoy griped sarcastically.

"Bones, you are cruel and unusual."

"…Just find his damn heartbeat."

Jim began trying to fumble in the dark, finally reaching Spock's shoulder and trailing down from that point, attempting to find that heartbeat McCoy was after. His fingers pressed onto something wet. They immediately jerked off, his knuckles scraping on the underside of the rock in his shock.

"What is it?"

Jim's hand came back, pressing on that side frantically, attempting to find that damp patch, trying to see where it came from. After his initial heavy handed inability to find it, he began to relax, and then he found it.

"He's bleeding."

"What? Where, what's it from? How bad is it?"

"Hold on, I'm trying to find out…" His hand slowly prodded at Spock's back, trying to find where all the blood was seeping from. He squeezed his hand between the rock and his First Officer carefully, following the sticky trail farther back and farther up. Jim's fingers finally found the cause, a gash at the back of the Vulcan's skull, deep, judging from the glancing touch, and something that was very near to his spine, and he could feel the cause.

"What is it?"

"He's got a gash on his head, and there's a rock digging into his back near his spine. It feels deep, I can't exactly tell…"

"Where?" McCoy interrupted, paying more attention to the breathing next to his ear.

"Um…well, it's… Bones, it's gotten between the ribs, I don't think it's all that deep, but it's…"

"Shallow breathing from what could likely be a lung that's close to bein' punctured, unconscious from a nasty knock to the skull…bleedin'…" McCoy was mumbling symptoms and causes softly, running through possible side-effects, trying to see how much time they would have left. He didn't like what he was coming up with. "Are the ribs keeping the rock from getting any deeper?"

"I…no. No they're not, this thing is getting between them…Bones, I think it's getting deeper with every breath he takes."

"We need to try and move him. See if you can move to the side, try and lower him down. He'll bleed more, but it's better that than he gets a punctured lung…" McCoy ordered, trying to squirm away as well.

"I can't!" Jim finally shouted, exasperation and pain in his voice.

"Don't tell me you cut yourself…"

"No, but if I squeeze any more that way I might. There are some really sharp rocks there, and there's no way to squeeze out of the way of any of it. It's too thin. Can you move?"

"No. There are too many rocks, not enough space. I can't move at all."

"So…he's stuck like that?"

McCoy glared, mind running through other options. "Can you clear out any of those rocks?"

"No. I tried…I…um…did cut myself on the rocks…tried to clear them out, it's like sticking your hand into a needle pile. I couldn't push it out of the way, there's too many, and they're too crushed together and it's heavy."

McCoy grumbled, his eyes closing against the dark, his head leaning back, mind scrambling through ideas and methods, wasted and discarded. "We can't move him. There's no space to push him up so we can squirm free and place him on the ground, even if we would be able to squirm out of the way. Jim…I don't know what to do."

"There has to be something…" James T. Kirk was not one to quit, ever. If his crew was in danger, he would fight and bleed to make sure that they survived. He did not believe in no-win scenarios, and he refused to let the one who told them there was no such thing to be the one who proved him wrong. "We have to do something. I can't just do nothing, there has to be something, do you have your communicator?"

"There's nothing, alright?" McCoy snapped. "As for my communicator it's smashed into pieces under my back, and it hurts like hell, but I can't do anything, yours?"

"Crushed."

"Any other bright ideas?" McCoy's voice was sarcastic, but there was an undercurrent of hope, and it nearly killed Jim to hear it.

"…" Jim was silent, eyes flickering from point to point uselessly, fingers flexing. "I don't have any. I don't know how thick the rock is, and I don't know how to tell… What time is it now?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know? The only one who usually knows is unconscious. What good will that do anyway?"

"The check in time, Bones. Someone will come looking for us if we miss the check in time, especially if one of our party members was Spock. If he doesn't call in right on the dot, someone is going to get worried."

"That could be anywhere from twenty minutes to three hours away. There's no way to tell, and I don't see how waiting is going to do us much good. I need you to check that wound again, see if you can stem the blood flow even further."

"Shall try, Bones." With that he began worming his hand back in there, finally finding the wound, fingers getting sticky, finally putting pressure on it around the rock. "He can't feel any pain can he?"

"He's completely out cold, which makes things lucky. Having somethin' pokin' your lung like that is extremely painful, especially combined with the fact that it's likely spreadin' the ribs a bit due to where it's pokin' it." McCoy's voice was getting quicker, his drawl thickening as he explained, as he thought about it. "But no, he can't feel any pain at the moment."

"There's a lot of blood, Bones…"

McCoy was silent in answer. He was aware there was a lot of blood; he could feel the liquid dripping onto his shoulder, onto his neck, onto his ear, the smell of copper thick and cloying in his nostrils. He couldn't think past the smell.

"Bones…will he live?"

McCoy didn't know how to answer that question. He could hear the breathing, shallow as it was steadily increasing. He knew what came next. He could estimate how long it would take before he was in danger of puncturing that lung. "We need to get out of here. He doesn't have a chance otherwise. Spock…Spock could die."

The words were pressing, and Jim brought his hand down on that wound harder, working on stemming the blood flow, on keeping Spock from breathing in deeper and finally puncturing that lung.

"Why would he do that?"

"Do what?"

"Why would he try and save us when it's the most illogical thing he could choose to do?"

"He does that a lot."

"What?"

"Yeah…in Away Missions. He's constantly throwing himself into danger, constantly throwing himself between whatever is threatening someone and the chosen victim. He's…relentless like that. You don't come down often enough to see."

"He does stuff like this often?"

"Most of the time, when he can that is, sometimes he can't. He's kept me from jumping head first into some things."

"Has he?"

"Yep…didn't you know? He shows up in sickbay often enough."

McCoy was silent, blinking, considering. "He never shows up when I'm on shift."

"Really?"

"I've never seen him down there."

Kirk was silent for a moment, considering. "That's funny, I usually send him right down. He usually leaves, but, well, naturally I've never followed him."

"You mean to suggest that he doesn't come straight to sickbay, he waits until he knows I'm gone?"

"…It's…it's possible. You don't really get along that well."

"You mean to suggest that he's _avoidin'_ me?"

"Well… Yeah. Bones, he's a smart guy, he's likely to have noticed that you don't like him."

"Don't tell me I hurt his feelin's," McCoy rolled his eyes at the thought but a small part of him was gnawing on that thought, considering the possibilities, trying to understand.

"'Course not, Bones, but he might be trying to annoy you less by just not being around you. You know, sort of sparing you the misery of being in his presence."

"…Do I treat him that badly?"

Jim laughed, and McCoy was slightly shocked at how bitter sounding it was. "Bones, he's bleeding to death right on top of you, each breath getting closer to finally puncturing one of his lungs, and you're barely raging about it. You haven't given me more instructions than 'try and stem the blood flow'. You tell me, _do you treat him that badly_?"

McCoy was silent. His mind on the other hand was skipping from thought to thought, one unending scream of denial echoing as he ran through memories. A cutting word there, a sneer there, a denial of feeling, a denial of his being, everything leading to a Vulcan who would calmly avoid him to spare him the apparently extreme discomfort being in his presence gave him.

All leading to a doctor and a surgeon almost calmly lying silently while that Vulcan bled to death all over him, all leading to a feeling of almost careless concern that was hiding…what? What was it hiding? Dislike? McCoy poked at that feeling, dissecting it. Surely it wasn't loathing? Mistrust…certainly mistrust, but loathing?

Where the hell had it come from? What had he done?

"Jim…what do you think of the guy?"

"Seriously? I like him. He's not so bad when you get to know him, and he sure as hell knows his way through the regulations. He's been a huge asset; do you remember how they were threatening to court martial?"

"Yeah…"

"He pulled a few strings, and they dropped it. I even got a formal apology. Bones, Spock's…he's definitely a guy that you want to have on your side. Plays a mean game of chess though."

"You play chess with him?"

"Yeah, why not right? I needed some sort of olive branch to extend, so… I learned he played chess and challenged him. He totally wiped the floor with me. It was awful!"

McCoy gave a slight scoff, "I would have liked to see that…"

"You could always come, Bones, it's not like…" Jim hesitated, and then began again, his voice quiet, "It's not like he's going to commit mutiny or try and strangle me again."

McCoy tried to hide a flinch, and suddenly it crystallized. The sight of his friend gasping for air, pinned to a console by a raging Vulcan as he strangled the life out of him. The absolute menace that was radiating off of him, the lack of control, and finally coming back like nothing had ever happened. No apology, no mention, it just hid away. McCoy stared at the blackness, wondering if that was all that was causing this, toying with other ideas.

"Bones…he apologized to me. I found out later that one of the reasons he wished to leave was because he didn't think that I would wish to have him on the crew. He believed that I wouldn't trust him anymore, and that sort of relationship doesn't lead to a good career on a starship. Bones, the only ones that haven't forgiven him for that is him, and…well…you."

That's what it was, wasn't it? One thing snowballing into another, growing and growing with each little fault, each little remark, everything that the Vulcan stood for, each seen as another reason to hate him. Why hadn't he noticed the other things? Why hadn't he noticed that the Vulcan was _avoiding_ him so he could be comfortable?

It was almost too much. The copper smell seemed stronger, thicker, he was choking on it. There was so much copper, there was so much blood. There was so much _guilt_.

"Jim…I think I'm an idiot."

"That's alright, Bones. I know you are."

"Thanks, you moron, but I can't believe I didn't see it. Jim…what the hell do I do?"

"You can start by helping me keep him alive!"

"Puttin' pressure on that wound is about all we can do at the moment. Jim, I'm still a doctor, no matter what my personal feelings are towards the guy. I swear to you that I wouldn't give you instructions that were likely to kill him, or leave somethin' out that would kill him anyway. It sucks, but…" His voice trailed off, his eyes widening as he heard a change in Spock's breathing. It had been shallow and getting faster, but now it was rapid, and there was a gurgling sound that made his own blood freeze in his veins.

"It's beginnin' to puncture his lung."

"What?" Jim pressed harder, pushing down on those ribs, only to have the rock slip out some and the blood to gush out thicker. He let go in shock at feeling the warm liquid run over his fingers, and that was the minute when Spock let out a harsh gasp next to McCoy's ear, the breath gurgling in his throat.

McCoy instantly let out a curse, his words slowly increasing in speed and creativity. "It's gettin' deeper, the blood's leakin' _into_ his lung now."

"What do we do?"

"Try and keep it from getting' deeper, what do you think we do?" McCoy snapped in response, not so much in anger at Jim than fear at Spock, and Jim realized it, not caring if he snapped, knowing he needed to vent.

"How?"

"Push harder!"

"But when I do that it bleeds more!"

Another set of expletives clouded the air, Jim pressing down as hard as he could while desperately attempting to keep it from bleeding worse. It was not working.

McCoy finally began shouting, the first loud burst of: "ALRIGHT YOU USELESS STARFLEET OFFICERS, FIND US ALREADY! YOUR FIRST OFFICER IS DIEIN', AND YOUR CAPTAIN AND CMO ARE TRAPPED, SO PROVE ME WRONG ABOUT BEIN' IN SPACE, DO SOMETHING USEFUL! SAVE US ALREADY, THIS IS RIDICULOUS!" McCoy's voice was harsh and loud, and Jim jerked, his head slamming onto the ground, and a loud shout of,

"OW!" leaving his lips.

McCoy kept shouting, voice turning raspy the longer he kept it up. Finally he fell into a coughing fit, the remaining dust choking him. "This is ridiculous…" He finally whispered out when he could breathe, his voice weak. Then another cough filled the air, and McCoy felt wetness splatter onto his ear. "Please…someone find us…before this starts to itch and I want to gnaw my own ear off…"

"What happened?"

"He just coughed blood onto my ear. Which is bad for him, but oh…great, it's startin' to itch…and I can't…scratch!"

Jim found himself unsure whether to laugh or to hit him, so he settled with pressing harder on the wound, trying desperately to stop it from bleeding more profusely. He knew he was failing.

"Please…please…don't die, don't die. Come on…I can't lose that possible friendship, I can't…" Jim was close to hysterics, whispering almost. He listened to yet another wet cough his eyes closing. It was then that Jim began shouting. McCoy's voice joined in, raspy southern drawl mixed with the loud and harsh ring of Jim's northern accent.

McCoy winced when he heard the gurgle that rasped in Spock's throat, the gasping breath coughing, more blood splattering onto his ear, onto the ground.

He couldn't die. He couldn't die, not now, not when he hadn't given him a chance. He needed to give him a chance; he needed to be on better terms with that hobgoblin. He needed to find a way to offer the olive branch. _Please…please…somebody, anybody, please, I beg you. Please._

Jim banged his free hand onto the stone above him, it was useless, but the pain was worth it. "PLEASE, SOMEONE! YOU CAN'T LET YOUR AWESOME CAPTAIN DIE UNDER A ROCK! IT'S JUST CRUEL! AND IF YOU LET YOUR COMMANDER DIE I SWEAR TO YOU THAT I WILL COURT MARTIAL ALL OF YOU, SO YOU HAD BETTER GET HERE BEFORE THAT HAPPENS, OR ELSE!"

They finally fell silent, gasping, coughing, Spock's gurgling gasps cutting through theirs like a knife through butter. Cutting their voices and cutting their hearts.

Then they heard it. Shifting rock, and a voice, shouting for something, and they nearly sobbed with relief. "DOWN HERE, WE'RE UNDER HERE, YOU HAVE TO HURRY, SPOCK'S IN TROUBLE!"

They heard a faint reply, and more shifting rocks. Hope flooded their hearts, strengthening their voices;_ they were going to be saved_.

Suddenly an even more wretched gasping gurgle was heard, and McCoy felt his insides fill with ice at the sound. It had finally punctured his lung. Denial was in his voice and Jim was soon joining him in the cry, hand pressing uselessly at a wound that was now flooding the inside with blood as much as the outside. Not now, they were so close, they were so close…

Light. They saw light, pure, crisp, bright. Voices joined it, and soon the rock above them was transported away, and their eyes closed in pain, watering at the sudden change. "Beam us to sickbay, NOW!" McCoy managed to bark out, and there was a moment of shouting into communicators, voices calling out in horror at the sight of their Commander.

The tingle of beam up surrounded them, and then they were there. Nurses flooded the three of them, transferring Spock from on them to a stretcher, carefully, briskly. McCoy managed to stand up jumping up and down to restore blood flow, making Jim laugh nearly hysterically at the sight of him. But then his face fell into a serious frown, "Don't let him die, Bones."

"I'll do my best."

His nurses ignored the state of their superior, a few going over to Jim to make sure he was okay, and he let them fix his hand. Mainly so he could watch them as they tried to fix Spock. He didn't understand half of what they were saying, but whatever it was, the biobed was slowly ceasing it's wailing, and things were finally, finally okay.

"Well…that was exciting…" Jim finally managed when they were finished, and McCoy was frantically scratching at his ear.

"Yeah, 'excitin', I'm never enterin' a cave with any of you ever again. I don't care if the fountain of youth is in the damn cave, I ain't goin' in!"

Jim laughed, "I'll keep it in mind, Bones."

"You better…"  
….

Two days later, Spock finally came up from a sedated sleep to the sight of McCoy sleeping at the side of his bed. The half-Vulcan blinked, eyebrow slowly rising at the sight of the doctor with his head tilting onto his shoulder, his mouth yawning open as he snored. Spock hesitated, unsure what he should do. He was aware that the Doctor disliked him, and if he were honest with himself he did not blame him. They had not had the best of first impressions.

But how to get out of this? He slowly attempted to sit up, only to let out a hiss of pain at the pull on newly healed flesh, McCoy snapping awake immediately at the sound. Worried hazel eyes met impassive brown in a flash, quietly examining the other for reasons.

"Spock."

"Doctor."

For the moment, that was all that was said, the both of them unsure what to say, what to do. McCoy finally couldn't take it anymore and bit the bullet.

"Thank you for savin' Jim and me back there…in that cave, you really didn't need to do that."

"On the contrary, Doctor, as the First Officer it is my duty to ensure the -"

"Shut up. Just... shut up, alright? Don't you dare talk to me about 'duty' when I had you lyin' across me unconscious and bleedin' with a rock in your lung the size of two of my fingers. That's not duty, Spock. That's illogical, that's suicidal…and I don't ever want you to do somethin' like that again, alright?"

"Doctor, I…"

"Please, I need to say somethin' else too. I'm sorry. You know exactly what for, and I wish I could give you a better reason than me holdin' a grudge…but I can't. Not really. I'm sorry, but I'm willin' to let it go. Spock… I've been an ass, and there is absolutely nothin' I can say to really change any of it, but I'm sorry that you felt the need to avoid me. I'm the ship's psychiatrist as well as her surgeon. You can't really avoid me even if you wanted to." McCoy sighed finally, and raised an eyebrow at him. "Look, what I'm tryin' to say is this: I'm willin' to give you another chance, if you'll return the favor."

Spock was silent for a moment, eyes focused on the man before him, slight confusion reflected in their depths, and McCoy let out another sigh, "Have I really been that much of an ass that you can't believe I'm apologizing to you?"

"I must admit to finding myself unprepared for it."

McCoy laughed, "Yeah, well, let's see what happens when you have someone lyin' across you near death and bleedin' all over _your_ ear and see how _you_ react. Trust me, a little soul searchin' is hardly surprisin' in that situation."

Spock blinked and then slowly stiffly gave a short nod, "I accept your terms. For what it is worth, I do apologize for my treatment of the Captain, I…was emotionally compromised."

"I know that, I knew that…" McCoy sighed, "Look, let's just…forget about it, alright? It's way too late for all this heavy shit."

"…I do not understand, what does heavy fecal matter have to do with this conversation?"

And just like that, between laughing hard enough to fall into a coughing fit, and literally falling off the chair, McCoy learned exactly why one would be friends with a Vulcan.

The confused looks McCoy received at the sight of him rolling around on the floor stuck in a laughing fit were just a bonus.


End file.
